The Gates of Nikanor are screaming again.

Yom revi'i, 23 Elul 5770.

I don't usually write about sad events, because that is not the purpose of this blog.

But last night, I slept poorly. The last story in my mind before I went to bed was about yet another tragedy to have befallen the Jewish people: four Jewish civilians were murdered by Arabs as they were driving home, to a small town south of the holy city of Hevron.

According to Arutz Sheva, Yitchak and Talya were the parents of six children, ages 24 to nearly 2. Talya was nine months pregnant with their seventh child.

Arutz Sheva also informs us that Avishai, another of the victims, had only recently moved to the community of Beit Hagai with his wife.  What will she do without him?

One of my dear friends sent me the following email about Kochava, the fourth victim:

Hi - I am sitting here crying because one of the women murdered tonight was my son's gannenet [kindergarten teacher].  Yehuda is six and is developmentally delayed - his teachers are our world because they bring him such joy when the world is such an overwhelming and confusing place.  Kochava was an angel, and we were with her an hour before she died - she was on her way home from the gan [kindergarten] "welcome back" orientation when she was murdered.

I wish I could scream out to the world how unfair this is, how senseless to waste such a beautiful giving life, but I have no outlet to tell everyone. Then I realized maybe you will be writing about what happened, and so perhaps you can include this part of the story.

Thanks - jennie

Another friend sent me a message informing me that one of the first ZAKA volunteers on the scene was Kochava's husband.  The terrible and important job of ZAKA volunteers is to painstakingly and lovingly collect every piece of a Jewish body, every drop of blood it is possible to retrieve, so that the entire Jew can be buried according to Jewish law.  This is how Mr. Even-Chaim was informed of his wife's passing.

One of the boys said to The Dearly Beloved, "Wow.  That is so close to us -- just down the road."  His father responded, "It's just down the road from every Jew."

When I awakened this morning at 6:13 to wake my newly-minted 16-year-old for school, of course I checked to see if there were updates.  Besides more details about this tragedy, I was treated to the following headlines:

6 US Soldiers Killed in Afghanistan

Lod: 26 Year-Old Found Shot

Hollywood: Three Iranian Jews Murdered

There are plausible explanations for all of these and related stories.  The US is at war.  The murders in Lod and Hollywood may be criminal in nature.  Whenever Israel begins talking peace, terrorists accelerate their efforts to take Jewish lives.

There are plenty of "this world" messages in these events that must be addressed.

But all I can think of is the Gates of Nikanor.

In the last 40 years before the Second Holy Temple's destruction, the beautiful bronze gates of Nikanor screamed louder and louder each time they were opened.  The screams were a warning to the Jewish people that if they went on, "business as usual," and did not change their ways, the Temple would be destroyed.  But it's hard to stop living our lives as we always have.  One gets used to the horrors of life, and walks over them to get to the next job or meal or entertainment -- because that is how we survive without spending all of our minutes crying.

But My people would not listen to Me.  Israel would have none of Me.  So I left them to their stubborn hearts, letting them follow their own devices.

Teshuva, tefilla u’tzedaka ma'avirin et ro’a hagezeira – repentance, prayer and charity remove the evil of the decree.

It is Elul.  I can't fix the world.  I can only fix myself.

Teshuva:
Have I been hurtful in my speech?  Very likely.  If it is YOU I have hurt with careless words, or lack of words, please let me know.  I humbly beg your forgiveness -- but it is still better for me to hear what I did or said directly from you.  Meanwhile, what about my performance of the other mitzvot?  How could I have gotten so lazy!

Tefilla:
Could my davening get just a little more shvach?  [Sarcasm.]  Probably not.  It only takes me a few minutes out of every day.  Couldn't I put in just a little more effort?

Tzedaka:
We can't pay into every charity or roll up our sleeves to pitch in on every worthy project.  But surely I could be more diligent to support those I have selected as "my" worthy causes.

If only My people would listen to Me, if Israel would walk in My ways, I would soon subdue their enemies, and turn My hand against their foes.

May the day come very soon -- this minute! -- when we will "get our act together," so that we will stop hearing and feeling tragedies.  May we fulfill whatever is that last effort needed from us to save our world.  May it be, as suggested by the prophet Yechezkiel, that we will see the Redemption coming through those very Nikanor Gates, speedily and in our days.

Nikanor Gate from www.chabad.org/library

Glossary:
Elul: the last Jewish month of the year, a time for concentrating on spiritual renewal before Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur
Davening: praying [Yiddish]
Shvach: weak [Yiddish]
Yechezkiel: Ezekiel

Rockin' the Old Folks at Home

Yom chamishi, 16 Elul 5770.

The Dearly Beloved in his new "Tulsa Time" shirt.

The Jewish month of Elul is a time for serious introspection, and focus on improving our observance of the 613 mitzvot (commandments).

Seems like a lot of stuff to get right, doesn't it?

It is impossible for any one person to fulfill all 613 commandments.  After all, some mitzvot can only be done by women.  Others, only by men.  Some can only be done by kohanim (priests).  Some commandments can only be fulfilled in the land of Israel.

There are a few comforting explanations offered for this.  We are reminded that we are a team -- united we stand, divided we fall.  In order to make one successful Jew, all Jews have to participate in the process.  It's nice to know we all count.

Another interpretation is that G-d loves us so much that He gives us 613 mitzvot so that we can each get at least one right.

The Dearly Beloved has several mitzvot that he fulfills well, in my humble opinion.  One of his best is kibbud av v'aim, the commandment to respect one's parents, specifically, and one's elders, in general.

The irony of this is that he lost his parents when they were very young.  That didn't stop him, though.  He spent thirteen years giving shelter and love and respect to my mother, before she, too, left this world.

You would think that fulfilling the mitzvah of kibbud av v'aim is a little difficult without parents, and especially difficult when you reach the age that people in their forties politely offer you their seats in the bus.  Not so -- at least where my husband is concerned.

I have learned so much from him, watching the great respect he has for elderly people.  Whenever he meets a WWII vet -- they're easy to spot, because they are proudly wearing WWII ball caps on their hoary old heads -- he will stop what he is doing, and converse with them about The Great War for as long as they care to speak.  His obvious love for them, and his gratitude for what they did, always pulls at my heartstrings.

We met this sweet couple as we waited for a bus in Jerusalem.  They're getting married soon.

Yesterday, half of the "Strung-Out Quartet" (our five-member garage band -- I'll tell you more about the band another time) accepted an offer to play a few tunes at the Nofei Yerushalayim Nursing Facility in the Bayit Vegan neighborhood.  The Dearly Beloved and our fiddle player, Uzi, spent a couple of hours playing country tunes and Jewish melodies for the residents of the home.

Uzi, fiddling around at rehearsal

Uzi lost his own dear father very recently, and is therefore not permitted to play music for a year -- except when he is doing it for parnassa (payment).  Jewish law demands respect for the dear departed -- but the Torah approach is not to endanger life or livelihood in the process of fulfilling the law.  But to Uzi and to my husband, the greatest part of their "paycheck" was the opportunity to make their parents' peers smile, tap their toes, and sing along.

As usual, the Dearly Beloved said that the best moments of the day were conversations he had with a few of the residents and volunteers.  The fact that some of them were Israelis made conversations about American country music quirky, but even more entertaining.  And the pancakes were also great!

Next time, you'd better have "Cotton-Eyed Joe" in your repertoire, boys.

May our careful attention to the fulfillment of the mitzvot hasten the Redemption, speedily and in our days.

Thanks for the cool new shirt, Rabbi Adler.

Another take on the dog days of summer

Yom rishon, 10 Elul 5769.

In the spirit of Elul, here is one of those precious family moments that briefly takes us from  the level above nature to the level of nature.



Rabbi Benny Zippel of Chabad Lubavitch of Utah blows the shofar when family dog, Chewy, decides to add his voice to the mix. Thoroughly enjoyed by all in attendance.

Hat tip to Bagolan  (Thanks, Adam.)

West Bank Mama has put together a great edition of Haveil Havalim:  #232 - The Back to School Edition.  There is so much to read these days -- it's nice to have one place to get a very good taste of what is happening at the Jewish/Israeli grassroots level.  A little Torah, a little politics, a few slices of life...  Put the kids on the bus, and enjoy a quiet read.

Are we builders or destroyers?

Yom shishi, 8 Elul 5769.

It's Elul.

No big deal, right?  All we have to do is spend the next month cleaning up our act, getting ready for the big show:  Yom Kippur.  We have to forgive every Jew who wronged us, and make ourselves forgivable in the eyes of Hashem.  Oh, yeah -- and let's not forget that noodling in the backs of our minds is that famous Chofetz Chaim rewording of an already troubling famous concept.  Every day that the Temple is not rebuilt, we are tearing it apart with our own hands.

With our own words, actually.  And our petty (but not to us, of course!) little angers at other Jews.

And every day that we are Temple-free is another day we get to fear our enemies, bury our loved ones over stupid violence and disease, suffer small and great torments, physical, mental, emotional...

And all we have to do to end the suffering is to love our fellow Jew.  Not climb Mt. Everest.  Not walk over burning coals in our bare feet.  Not starve ourselves for forty days, nor even take a vow of abstinence.

Just love Jews.  Every Jew, even the least lovable.  Even the Jews that drive us crazy.  Easy, right?

IMPOSSIBLE.

Given our natures, given our weaknesses and easy rationalizations over our hurtful responses to our dented fragile egos, acid-soaked coals would be a cakewalk, compared to loving that %#@&* who did X to me five years ago...

Impossible.  Totally insurmountable.

Fortunately, as Rebbetzin Tzipporah Harris points out, its not our job.  It's Hashem's.  All we have to do is ask Him to solve the impossible.  But we have to ask sincerely.

Rebbetzin Harris listened to the words of great rabbis who are telling this generation that without Ahavat Yisrael -- love of the Jewish people -- Ahmadinawhackjob will get the bomb, and he will be empowered to wreak more destruction against the Jewish people than in the darkest days of World War II.  She listened, and she decided to do something to help.

Rebbetzin Harris started Ahavat Yisrael Chaburim, small groups of women who take upon themselves to eradicate senseless hatred from among their membership.  The hope -- the prayer -- is that all of these small groups (and today there are more than 80 of them around the world) will create ripple effects that will cause the entire Jewish world to "get over it."

She addressed "impossible" with a story, that goes something like this:

A family was notified by the hospital that their elderly mother had died.  They were, of course, distraught; but they followed Jewish ritual, and had her body picked up by the Chevra Kadisha, which as always prepared her lovingly for burial.  After the shiva period, the family got a phone call:  "Why haven't you been to visit me?" asked the old woman.  They were too shocked to respond; and they received a second call:  "Is everything all right?  Why hasn't anyone come to visit this week?"

They rushed to the hospital to make the astonishing discovery that their old mother and grandmother was still alive!

The hospital staff quickly discovered their embarrassing error:  they had confused the woman with her roommate.  The family had buried and sat shiva for a complete stranger!

The family was dumbfounded, but completely overjoyed to have more time with their dear relative.  But now the hospital staff had a terrible problem.  They had to call the other woman's family, and tell them that not only had their mother died a week ago -- but someone else had buried her!

When the young doctor in charge of the staff made the call, he introduced himself to the woman's son.  The man barely let him finish before he started to speak harshly:  "If this is about my mother, you can tell her the answer is still NO!  All day long, she sits with that prayerbook of hers, asking God to give her a 'kosher Jewish burial.' That's all she does, all day long -- and we're not going to do it.  You can just tell her to forget it!"  And he slammed down the receiver.

Even the impossible is not hard for Hashem.  We only have to ask Him for it, with all our hearts.

Join a group like Rebbetzin Harris' chabura.  Gain strength from other Jews who have the same holy goals.

Make that phone call.  Send the email that you know you need to send.  It starts something like this:  "Dear [Ploni], I love you, and I want to have a relationship with you."   Say you are sorry for your part in the difficulty between the two of you -- without dredging up the stupid fight that got you to the place of so much hatred.  (Contrary to certain schools of psychology, airing the problem rarely solves it.)  And then just focus on the things you like and admire about him...

Get over it.  Our lives depend on it.